


Paths Cross Again

by bi_exhausted1743



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Rome, Angst, Cunnilingus, F/F, Fem!Crowley, First Time, Historical, Ineffable Wives, Medieval Europe, Pining Crowley, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, black death, fem!aziraphale, female presenting characters, lite angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-07-11 18:16:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19932394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bi_exhausted1743/pseuds/bi_exhausted1743
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale, through the ages.





	1. Ancient Rome

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone. this is my first good omens fic. i made them lesbians because i am lesbians so :/ yeah here's this. it's gonna be multiple chapters, but i'm not completely sure how long. i'll say when it's over, hang in there until then i guess. planning on throwing in some smut and angsty times in future chapters so we'll see where this crazy train ends up!

Crowley wasn’t entirely sure how she had gotten herself into this situation. Well, obviously, she knew logistically how. She had been in Rome, under the order to tempt Emperor Caligula, which only showed just how little Crowley’s department actually bothered to learn about Earth. Any amount of looking into it would have showed them that Caligula was in need of no demonic intervention. So that was how she had ended up at the bar, which was where she had run into Aziraphale, who had then invited her to get oysters. 

This had, Crowley reflected back, seemed like an innocent suggestion. Was she being naive? Perhaps, but in all fairness, while Lust and everything that came with it was technically her department, food was not. Crowley had only ever drank, which she was well aware could sometimes leave humans, and the occasional supernatural being, in a particularly frisky mood. But food was something else. Personally, she didn’t see the appeal of eating. She thought it was just something humans did because they had to. But Aziraphale had come to love it. And had then suggested she join her for dinner. Certainly something that her side wouldn’t approve of, but Crowley couldn’t bring herself to care. They couldn’t even be bothered to give her proper assignments, Crowley had reminded herself as she finished off the rather dense drink the bartender had given her before following Aziraphale out.

The restaurant was...a restaurant. Crowley honestly hadn’t been paying much attention to it. Aziraphale had been talking the whole time, going on about the reviews she had heard of the place, how long she had wanted to try a decently done oyster, and lots of other food-related things that Crowley listened to but didn’t retain. She just stared at Aziraphale. The sunglasses were new, something she had decided to invest in after a few too many odd looks from humans. And especially after the whole mess with Jesus, Crowley knew these Romans wouldn’t be the type to fuck around if something rubbed them the wrong way. So she bought the glasses, and had become quite used to wearing them since the last time she had encountered Aziraphale. It made looking at her different. Everything was darker, and Aziraphale was included in that everything, but there was still a glow to her that the tinted glass couldn’t get rid of. Crowley refused to call it a halo because that was dumb. But she still found herself staring for a majority of the meal.

The oysters came, much to Aziraphale’s delight, and Crowley reluctantly ate one. It was slimy, which she personally didn’t mind, but the texture was surprising. It didn’t seem like the type of things humans would willingly eat, and she pointed that out to Aziraphale. Which then got her started on her own brand of tangent, discussing the benefits of oysters and seafood in general, and Crowley found herself again retaining none of it. She did however help herself to another oyster.

Was it the sliminess? That seemed silly, she thought as her lips collided with Aziraphale’s, not for the first time since they’d retired to the room Aziraphale had been keeping in a nearby villa. Sliminess was hardly sexy on its own, especially when the said sliminess was coming from a barely cooked, dead fish. Were oysters fish? Or were they some other breed of aquatic thing? Crowley wasn’t about to break the kiss to ask.

Kissing was plenty slimy. Crowley had done it before, of course she had. She felt she had to find out what all the fuss humans made over it was about. It hadn’t been up to the hype, at least not in her opinion. It didn’t really feel like anything at best and at worst, Crowley felt it was an intrusion. Billions of other things she would rather be doing than feeling a mortal’s tongue prod into her mouth. This however felt significantly different. Less like a prod, more like a welcoming glide. At present, Crowley couldn’t think of a single thing she would rather be doing besides kissing Aziraphale.

After their meal, they had walked around. Crowley wasn’t sure why she herself had suggested doing so. Chalk it up to the fact that it had been a few years, and Aziraphale was nothing if not fun to talk to, and the only one Crowley could be completely honest with. Hell would probably disagree with that opinion, but at least she didn’t need to fake mortality, or morality for that matter, around the angel. Walking around had turned into Aziraphale excitedly wanting to show her the villa she had found.

The angel didn’t sleep, she didn’t need to, but when Aziraphale traveled somewhere, she did take up a bedroom to keep up appearances. Or maybe not just to keep up appearances, Crowley considered, her knees colliding with the edge of the angel’s bed. Crowley had never been bothered enough to find a villa, or room, or cave, or really anything. If she wanted privacy, she found it, or made it for herself. She never stuck around long enough for any human to take notice anyway. Apparently that wasn’t the case for Aziraphale. There needed to be a room, to placate the humans she surrounded herself with. There also had to be a bed.

This time, Crowley did break the kiss. “Do you sleep?”

The question came out so hastily and so casually, that for a second Crowley had actually forgotten that their lips had been entwined not two seconds prior. From Aziraphale’s expression, it seemed the question had taken her off guard just as much. “Oh, um...not often, no. The bed is just for...well…” The end of that sentence hung in the air, Crowley staring at the angel expectantly. Aziraphale wasn’t meeting her eyes, instead looking at the floor with an incredibly embarrassed expression. Crowley would have called it a guilty one, but she wasn’t quite sure the extent to which angels could feel as unheavenly an emotion as guilt. 

At this point, Aziraphale seemed to get almost frustrated. “Oh, please, I’m sure I don’t have to tell /you/ what beds are for,” she finally said, as though that answered Crowley’s question in the slightest.

“Sleeping?” Crowley repeated. Her hands were still on Aziraphale’s arms, but she only noticed when Aziraphale scoffed and stepped back, pacing the room slightly. Crowley’s hands, now suddenly cold, dropped to her side and she continued to watch the angel pace.

“Now you’re just trying to embarrass me, aren’t you?” she asked, turning back to Crowley with her arms crossed. Her face was pink, which Crowley found interesting, she didn’t know angels could blush. She was learning a lot tonight. Not though what beds were for besides sleeping. She continued to just stare dumbly at Aziraphale through her glasses, which suddenly felt too heavy on her face. 

Aziraphale watched her for a moment more before her face softened. “Oh my, you’re not. Have you...you’ve never...been with someone?” 

It took Crowley a second to realize she was referring to ‘being with someone’ in a biblical sense. Crowley noted that her brain seemed to be moving rather slowly at the moment, but she decided steadfastly that it was Aziraphale’s fault for bringing her here, and kissing her like that, and making her eat a someone-damned oyster. “No, of course not. I mean, I’ve...I’ve done this before. Kissing, all that,” she corrected, motioning vaguely to the space between them, “But why would I...I mean, with humans, wouldn’t that be a bit...odd?” 

Not for the first time that night, Aziraphale was blushing. “Well, how should I know? I’ve only ever been with them. It isn’t like my lot is jumping at the opportunity to divulge in such human activities, so I don’t really have a comparison, do I?”

“So far, the kissing is better. Of course, that’s my only gage for these sorts of things, but kissing you is certainly different than kissing a human,” Crowley replied, surprising herself with how succinct and frankly diplomatic she sounded. As if they were discussing politics or a game of Latrunculi. Aziraphale hesitated, as if agreeing would be admitting something she hadn’t wanted to, but slowly she nodded. “If that’s the case with just this, I’d wager it’d be the same with everything else, right?” she continued, absently running her hand through her hair. She had cut it shorter, significantly shorter than the last time she had run into Aziraphale at Golgotha. Aziraphale, of course, had kept her mop of blonde curls the same. Everything about her was the same, and just as mesmerizing as the day they had met. Crowley was dully aware that she was staring again, but this time it seemed okay. Aziraphale seemed to be staring back.

Aziraphale cleared her throat, finally tearing her eyes away from Crowley in favor of glancing around her room. As if something interesting had magically appeared. “Are you suggesting we...try then?”

At this point, Crowley found dancing around the subject quite tiresome. As it was, the alcohol had worn off and the only thing left was the faint taste of wine and Aziraphale on her lips. “Have sex you mean? Yes, that’s what I’m suggesting.”

“Quite bold for a virgin,” Aziraphale commented. Crowley chuckled. It was rare that the angel’s bitchier side came out, and she loved when it did. This time, it was Crowley who took a step forward, placing her hand on Aziraphale’s cheek and tugging her forward into another kiss.

They had spoken afterwards, since neither of them had taken to sleeping at this point. It turned out, much to Crowley’s surprise, that the angel did engage with humans sexually quite often. An extension of her being a creature of love. “This was...different though,” Aziraphale mused, her hand tracing absently along Crowley’s neck. It felt nice, so Crowley didn’t say anything, instead remaining contently still with her head on Aziraphale’s shoulder and her arm draped lazily over her bare stomach. “With humans, it feels like...work. Perhaps work isn’t the right word. But it’s as if I’m giving them something, like only they are gaining from the experience, really. Not that I’m complaining, I consider that to be a very important element of being an angel. Giving humans comfort and happiness.” 

Crowley tried to ignore the pang of...something that went off in her stomach. Instead of acknowledging it, she merely nodded, passively urging Aziraphale to continue.

“But with you, it was…” Aziraphale trailed off again. For someone so usually eloquent, Crowley noted, the angel was certainly having trouble finishing her sentences tonight. Crowley even went as far as to tilt her head up, raising an eyebrow and visibly waiting for an answer. Aziraphale flushed again. Or maybe the color had never gone away from before. “It was good. Mutual.”

Overall, that was an underwhelming conclusion to that sentiment, but she didn’t say so. She remained quiet, still slumped against Aziraphale. 

“Next time I’m sure will lack some of the um...awkwardness,” Aziraphale added, a small smile playing at her lips. Crowley found herself smiling as well. Next time.


	2. Medieval Europe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> medieval europe

Even though Aziraphale had stormed off away from her, armor clanking rather cumbersomely, Crowley wasn’t letting that be the end of their encounter. 

‘Crawly?’ Was she joking? Crowley’s nose scrunched again at the mere memory of it. She was riding a horse, supposedly going to end that knight from earlier today. At least that was what her posse of degenerates believed. But really, who knows? She might just end up killing Aziraphale, she thought. After what they had done last time, and Aziraphale couldn’t even be bothered to remember her name? But still, Crowley had called off the men around her, all of whom had been itching to take down a knight of the round table. No no, she insisted she would do it herself once Aziraphale was gone. This one was personal, she had to kill the knight herself, catch her by surprise. Her men had applauded, all excited for what would surely be a brutal slaughter, one that the Black Knight would tell them all about when she returned. The whole thing made her roll her eyes as she rode, approaching the small village she knew Aziraphale to be staying in. 

It was very damp. Even though Crowley had miracled herself out of her armor a long time ago, she still found herself sweating. This era was quite tiring, the clothing much more overbearing than the robes of ancient Rome. Even in a tunic and light trousers, there was very little airflow. Made riding horses easier, she supposed. Another quick miracle got her through the city gates without being spotted. Without her armor, there would be no mistaking her for a man, not that Crowley had even bothered to try, but a woman riding a horse alone would certainly draw the attention of the local lord’s men on guard. 

The town Aziraphale had chose was small. A bakery, which appeared to also offer assorted meats. There was a blacksmith’s shop, but it looked like the biggest thing they could produce was a few pots. There didn’t appear to be a cobbler at all. No doubt the angel wouldn’t be here very long. There didn’t seem to be a monastery close by, and that would mean no scrolls or books for Aziraphale to get her hands on. What did that leave for her to do? Oh yes, she would likely be leaving in the morning.

It wasn’t difficult to find the small quarters Aziraphale had claimed for her own. It was too late for anyone to still have a candle lit, and only one window shone bright. From the street, she could see there were curtains hanging in the window Crowley dismounted in front of the small hut. She debated briefly about just storming in, raising an immediate fuss, but something got the better of her and she found herself knocking at the door. There was a brief shuffling and soon Aziraphale was opening the door. She too had ditched her armor, however she wasn’t wearing the masculine attire Crowley usually fancied for herself. The angel was wearing a dress. In appearance, it resembled what many of the other peasant women wore, but Crowley knew better. In fact anyone would after one glance. The fabrics Aziraphale had miracled herself into were far too luxurious for someone supposedly common. Crowley was rolling her eyes before Aziraphale could even get a word out.

“Hello, Crowley,” she said, not exactly welcoming but also not unpleasant. Confused. Fair enough. At least she got her name right this time, Crowley noted dryly. “What brings you here?”

Everything Crowley had been thinking, back when they were face to face on the battlefield and afterwards while she stewed and composed exactly what she had wanted to say to Aziraphale’s dumb angelic face, vanished instantly from her mind. She would have thought it was some sort of divine intervention from the other if the angel herself wasn’t staring at her just as expectantly. Well shit! The demon was quiet for another second before she finally stuttered out a noise that came across indigent enough. Not that it answered the question, but it bought her time. And it made it seem like her being there was obvious, and how stupid of the angel not to know why she had come to her door. 

Aziraphale raised her hand, stopping Crowley from saying something she hadn’t even mentally composed yet. “If this is about the…arrangement, or what have you, you mentioned earlier, my answer still stands. It was frankly ridiculous for you to even bring it up, I don’t understand why-”

She was going off again. On one of her holy tirades, which at this point, Crowley had been on the receiving end of a few times. Everytime she did one of these though, it seemed more disingenuous than the time before. As if with every rant, she lost a bit of gusto for her noble cause. There was something there, Crowley knew there was, but all she could be bothered to do now was tug Aziraphale forward by that ridiculously soft frock and kiss her. That thankfully got the angel to shut up, and Crowley could only mourn that this method of keeping her quiet would only work when they were alone.

Centuries had passed since their last encounter, and naturally Crowley had brushed up. Kissing had never been an issue for her. Serpent’s tongue and all that. Not that her tongue was actively snakelike in the kiss, there just came a natural dexterity, which she was using now to lick into Aziraphale’s mouth. The angel obliged happily, allowing the kiss to deepen until Crowley had to take a step closer to Aziraphale. Only then did Aziraphale break the kiss, her cheeks flushed again that beautiful color it had been years and years ago. “The door’s still open, my dear,” she murmured, motioning to the thankfully empty street behind them. Before Crowley could voice her indifference, Aziraphale was tugging her forward, shutting the door with an absent wave behind them. She continued to tug her forward, Aziraphale’s hands slipping from Crowley’s arms to her back. It was only then, their lips intertwined again when Crowley remembered just what had driven her here, why she had ridden a fucking horse miles in the damp, disgusting swamp to this tiny, cobbler-less town. 

This time it was Crowley who pulled back, a faint snarl leaving her while she shoved Aziraphale down onto the bag of hay Aziraphale had for a bed. Still keeping up appearances, but obviously there were feathers rather than hay in there, she could tell. When she fell back, Aziraphale hadn’t grimaced, at least not in pain. The angel hadn’t even gotten onto her forearms yet before Crowley was over her, straddling her on the bed that she could tell now was absolutely feathers. “Tell me something,” she asked, her voice lower and more dangerous than she had ever used with her, “Just how many people have you slept with that you can’t even be bothered to remember our names?”

“Oh, darling, your old name just slipped out, of course I know-”

“Shut it.” It was rare that her saying it actually got Aziraphale to stop talking, but this time it did. And the look in Aziraphale’s eyes said she would be willing to follow a lot more demands than that. Something to remember for next time. But that wasn’t why Crowley had dragged herself out here in the dead of night. She told her men she was going to destroy the angel, and she decided in that moment she would be doing exactly that.

Crowley kissed her again, but it was nothing like they had in the past. Even when she had kissed Aziraphale to shut her up, there was a trepidation. This time there was nothing but determination, which was only fed with every small whimper she got out of her. She sucked Aziraphale’s bottom lip, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin there, before pulling back, letting her skin tug before she finally let go. Aziraphale didn’t get a break though. Just as Aziraphale’s head was allowed to hit the bed behind her, Crowley moved down her body. Whether or not Aziraphale was wearing anything under her dress was unimportant; with a thought, whatever might have been there was gone, and Crowley hiked up her skirt to her waist. 

They didn’t need to breathe, but they did to make humans feel more at ease. A creature not breathing, while not obvious, was unsettling on a subconscious level. However, there was no reason for Aziraphale to be panting the way she was. Only reason Crowley could fathom was that she genuinely couldn’t help it. Side effect of so many years on Earth, perhaps. It was interesting nonetheless to see how what she did altered the way Aziraphale was breathing. For example, Crowley noted the hitch of the angel’s breath when she ghosted her tongue along the length of her pussy. Barely a touch, but there was instantly so much tension in Aziraphale’s posture. Anticipation. Smirking, Crowley repeated the action, only this time allowing the tip of her tongue to linger at her clit. Another hitched breath, this one accompanied with a slight moan. Desperation. 

“You’re not going to forget me this time, angel,” Crowley purred, her eyes flicking up to Aziraphale’s face. They made eye contact, briefly, but it was enough to confirm that she was right about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. Sorry this took a while to post, I'm genuinely trying to be more on top of my writing. Anyway hope you enjoyed! I'll work on the next chapter real soon


	3. Black Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> black death era smut, girls and gays

There was chaos and then there was tragedy. Despite the fact that many other demons seemed to revel in it, Crowley was never personally a fan of tragedy. Too much suffering, not nearly enough sinning. Of course there was always sinning, but in times like this, as Crowley walked through the crowded, silent streets of London, there was far more suffering than sin.

Sickness had swept through mainland Europe first, spread through traders and rodents and God only really knew what else. It was only a matter of time before it hit England, but that didn’t mean anyone was anymore prepared than if it had snuck up on them. Millions fell, especially within London. Crowley did what she could, to an extent, but there was only so much one person, demon, angel, or otherwise, could do in the face of so much death. And the last thing Crowley wanted for herself was to gain a reputation as a miracle worker. So she kept to the shadows, curing the occasional person she encountered, helping a few orphaned children make it on their own. Small favors. Crowley was not about to call them miracles. That was Aziraphale’s job, and, as she remembered well, the angel was not a fan of the proposed arrangement. So she would keep to her temptations, Aziraphale would keep to her miracles. If Crowley happened to help a person here and there, well that didn’t necessarily have to be on purpose.

Aziraphale wasn’t doing as good a job at keeping a low profile. Rumors began to spread. Out of the many plague doctors, there was only one who was consistently curing their patients. They made their way through England, heading up to London and curing the sick they encountered on their way. No one was allowed to watch the doctor work. All that people knew was, after spending an hour with the patient, they would be cured. Some people speculated that the doctor had found some sort of herbal cure, rare and from the middle east or some foreign land. Others claimed the doctor had a direct line to God. As if Aziraphale would be so lucky, Crowley thought dryly as she waited outside the latest patient’s residence. 

Crowley had been paying close attention to the local gossip. The doctor was here in London finally, and they had just gone to see their first patient. “He’s sure to cure the whole of England!” one man had exclaimed, to which Crowley had struggled not to laugh. Her angel could do a lot, but curing all of England would certainly result in more than an angry note from above. It only took a few conversations and one or two trances before she was able to find the exact house Aziraphale would be at. It was a small one, only one bedroom, and the surviving family had been banished to sit outside in the street for the time being. Crowley didn’t feel like conversing, hearing another sob story she would be able to do very little about. So she kept to the side, watching as the father wrung his hands and two of his children sat sollumly at his feet. For a brief moment, she debated miracling herself up a pair of sunglasses, just in case anyone did take notice of her, but she figured that, between the darkness, the distance, and the circumstances, her eyes would be the last thing on anyone’s mind.

The doctor who finally emerged looked typical to most of the other doctors Crowley had encountered. Black robes, reaching to the ankles, layered over each other. Thick fabric wrapped their shoulders and hair, leaving only the heavy, leather mask visible from beneath the hood. Despite the dark, glass eyes and the sharp beak of the face that was shared by virtually all doctors, there was something different about this one. Perhaps it was the fact that the stitching was white, a stark contrast against the black leather, or maybe it was something deeper than that. No doubt though it was Aziraphale. She was holding her cane in a relaxed grip, speaking to the father who had turned when the door opened. It took a bit of effort to hear the exchange, but Crowley was pleased to hear that the man’s youngest daughter would be pulling through. If Aziraphale accused her of smiling at the news, Crowley was ready to deny it.

Once the family had gone back inside, Crowley pushed off the wall she’d taken to and walked alongside the doctor. Their pace never faltered. “They’re calling you a miracle worker. I’m sure that’s doing wonders for your ego,” she remarked, glancing over. 

The mask was unsettling, but only because she had gotten so used to reading Aziraphale’s face, and now that was impossible to do. But it was certainly her angel’s voice that emerged from underneath it. “I’m just doing what I can.” 

She sounded tired, and it dawned on Crowley that if the plague was taking its toll on her, a demon, she could not imagine what it was like for Aziraphale. She was a creature made of love, and she was watching humanity plunge into a despair she could do nothing about. Crowley nodded, walking along with Aziraphale for a few more minutes in silence. A quiet moment was rare between them, but this felt appropriate. She wordlessly followed the angel through the city. 

Apparently she wasn’t making any more visits tonight. They eventually came to a stop outside an obviously abandoned house. By the time Aziraphale pushed open the door, she had miracled the place clean and ready for occupancy. Crowley didn’t want to think about what it might have looked like before or what might have happened to the people that had once called this home. Instead, Crowley decided to focus on her own miracle, pulling two bottles of ale out of thin air and handing one to the angel. Aziraphale plopped down onto her bed and flipped her hood off, her blonde hair falling out and onto her shoulders. It was shorter than it had been last time, probably for the sake of keeping it clean and out of her way. That seemed to be as much time as Aziraphale was planning on wasting on her appearance though. She barely slid the mask up an inch before twisting the bottle open and taking a swig.

Crowley had barely taken a sip of her own ale, instead watching as Aziraphale more or less chugged hers. She waited until Aziraphale had finished off the bottle and miracled it full once more before intervening. “Easy there, your patients won’t benefit from your being hungover tomorrow,” she said, plucking the bottle from Aziraphale’s hands. The mask turned to her, and without even seeing her eyes, she could tell the angel was glaring at her. She made a weak attempt at grabbing back the bottle, which only made Crowley laugh and hop up onto the small dresser next to the bed. “Take a break at least.”

At that, Aziraphale scoffed. “I haven’t taken a break in months, Crowley, this is my break,” she retorted. Finally, she pushed the mask up, letting it rest on her forehead. The beak looked like a horn on the angel’s head, and Crowley smirked. Now though she could properly see Aziraphale’s face. Unchanged, for the most part. Tired though, Aziraphale was right about not taking a break.

Crowley spun the bottle in her hands. “Well, there’s plenty of other ways to take a break. Besides drinking.” she said nonchalantly. 

“Of course I know that,” Aziraphale replied, rubbing her eyes with her palms, “but I’m not going to start reading, you’re here after all, and it’s been a while-”

“I didn’t mean reading, angel.”

That seemed to get Aziraphale’s attention. She glanced over at Crowley over her hands. “I was under the impression that wasn’t something you were interested in doing...again,” she said.

She supposed it made sense that Aziraphale would think that. Their last time hadn’t exactly been tender or romantic by any stretch. It had been rough, angry, and quick, despite somehow managing to take them well into the morning hours. And it had ended with Aziraphale passed out with her arm around her and Crowley turning into a snake in order to escape without waking her up. She hadn't felt like talking to the angel afterwards that time. There was nothing to talk about. Where she stood with Aziraphale was clear: their arrangement began and ended with sex. That was the extent of things. And sometimes, Crowley didn’t mind it. And this was one of those times. 

“Where would you get that idea?” she asked, sliding off the dresser. It had been a challenge, as if she was daring the angel to talk about their last time. And it was a challenge Aziraphale clearly wasn’t rising to today. She simply shrugged.

It was almost unfortunate how comfortable Crowley felt in Aziraphale’s lap. As if it had been hours since she was last there rather than decades. Aziraphale’s hands were on her thighs as soon as Crowley straddled her, and Crowley smiled. She could only hope it came out more as a smirk, something self-satisfied. Aziraphale smiled in return. Unlike Crowley though, any time Aziraphale smiled it came out as warm, almost loving. Crowley knew better though. “Are you planning on having a little hissy fit again, or are you going to let me do what I need to do to you?” she teased, giving Crowley’s thigh a light pinch.

Crowley laughed, despite the subtle flip of her stomach. This was a rarer side of Aziraphale, one that only really came out in situations like this, but Crowley would be the last one to complain when it did surface. “No, I think I’ll leave what happens tonight up to your discretion, doctor,” she replied, reaching up and sliding the mask back down and over Aziraphale’s face. The angel chuckled but didn’t protest. She only adjusted the mask in order to free her caught curls from the leather strap behind her head. 

They couldn’t kiss like this, but Crowley didn’t mind. Not at the moment anyway, as one of Aziraphale’s hands slid up her thigh and around to grab her ass. The fabric of her trousers were light but still irritatingly there. A quick miracle got rid of those, her tunic now the only layer between her and Aziraphale’s hand. “A bit eager, are we?” she asked, her voice low through the leather of the mask.

“Yeah, I’m real sick, doc. Need some of your medicine,” Crowley replied, chuckling. That earned her a light smack on the leg, but she heard Aziraphale’s own laugh through the mask. It made Crowley want to kiss her, but she settled on pressing a light peck to the tip of the beak.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that, dear?” Aziraphale replied. Crowley could practically hear the smile in her voice. 

Something about that made Crowley’s stomach flip again, but differently this time. They were skirting on emotional. Too emotional for her liking. “I know. And you’re still not doing anything about it,” she retorted, her own hands moving up and around Aziraphale’s shoulders. 

That seemed to do the trick because this time, when Aziraphale chuckled, it was darker. Her grip on her ass tightened, and that was Crowley’s only warning before Aziraphale had flipped them over. It was almost pathetic how quickly Crowley let her legs spread underneath Aziraphale, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care when they were like this. She could only bite her lip, looking up into what she could make out of Aziraphale’s eyes from behind the glass eyes of the mask. The blue was hazy, but there. 

The absence of kissing only made Crowley tenser with the sheer anticipation. Aziraphale could tell, the bastard, and she was intentionally moving her hand slower than usual along Crowley’s thigh. As soon as she thought the angel might finally give in, finally touch her, she drew back, tracing absent circles along Crowley’s inner thighs once more. It was after the fourth or fifth time Aziraphale neared her pussy but again moved away that Crowley snapped. “For fuck’s sake, angel,” she groaned, looking at Aziraphale now with a mixture of annoyance and raw fucking pleading, “Do something already, anything.”

“Do what?” Aziraphale asked, cocking her head. It was a complete rouse, she was feigning innocence, just a continuation of her bloody teasing. 

“Anything. Just...fuck, anything. Touch me, fuck me, hell, you can even...make an effort if you want to, fuck me properly, just do something, for fuck’s sake-” Crowley was cut off by her own moan as Aziraphale slipped two fingers into her without warning. 

Aziraphale was moving slowly but deliberately, each thrust of her fingers going deeper than the last. It was enough to allow Crowley to relax slightly, finally getting enough to release some of her own tension. Aziraphale was looming over her, her elbow resting just above Crowley’s head, and her face as close as that damned mask would allow. It had been amusing, sexy even, she was reluctant to admit, but now she needed nothing more than to just kiss Aziraphale dammit. Her newfound frustration must have shown on her expression, because Aziraphale tilted her head again. “Is this what you wanted, my dear?” There was a hint of teasing behind the question, and she knew more was coming. Surely enough, “You asked me to fuck you, I obliged. What could you possibly need now?” She punctuated the question by crooking her fingers and hitting deep within her with each motion.

It took Crowley a little more than she would have liked for her mind to formulate an answer. “Kiss -oh fuck...kiss me,” she managed. Her hands had moved now from Aziraphale’s neck to her hair, her fingers tightening in the angel’s curls as she moved faster than before. 

“Sorry, what was that?” Aziraphale asked, her thumb finally brushing along Crowley’s clit as she continued to work her fingers. 

“Shit!” Crowley wasn’t quite sure if she had cursed aloud or mentally, but she couldn’t be bothered to wonder for very long. Instead she latched her hands onto that damn mask and pushed it up and off Aziraphale’s face. She threw it onto the floor with one hand while the other took Aziraphale’s jaw and yanked her down into a kiss. Aziraphale decided not to be a tease, thank someone, and kissed back just as enthusiastically. It was certainly one of their sloppier kisses, but just as Crowley considered trying to coordinate herself better, Aziraphale shifted her hand so her palm was rubbing steadfastly against her clit. Her hold on Aziraphale’s hair tightened and the kiss dissolved on her part to panting against Aziraphale’s mouth. Even though her own eyes were closed, she could feel Aziraphale’s eyes on her face, and somehow that only made Crowley inch closer. Then the angel started talking, Crowley could have killed her. “You’re getting close...I can tell, my dear. Let go, it’s alright, come for me, love.”

It was over after that. She could feel herself fall over the edge, one hand tangled in Aziraphale’s curls while the other gripped tightly at her back. Again, Crowley wasn’t able to tell if she had shouted aloud or gone completely silent, but she did know she was whimpering when Aziraphale continued to rub her clit through her orgasm. It was only after Crowley went completely limp that Aziraphale withdrew her hand. She was flushed, as per usual, and breathing heavily. And there was a small smile on her face, as if she had been the one to finish. It made that strange flip return to Crowley’s stomach, and for a brief moment she wasn’t sure if she wanted to push Aziraphale away or pull her in close for a hug. She settled for the latter. 

They didn’t make a habit of sleeping. Aziraphale had told her before that she wasn’t the most fond of it. But sometimes she would make an exception after sex. This was one of those times. Aziraphale remained on top of her, her head resting on Crowley’s chest. Crowley stayed awake for a while, her hand carding through Aziraphale’s hair, replaying the words Aziraphale had said. All of them. Her last thought before finally drifting off to sleep was just how fucked she really was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((notes: okay, just for the record, i know that plague doctors did not technically dress in the bird masks until the 1620s, but then this would be taking place after the globe theater bit. i didn’t want to jump that far ahead, but my girlfriend wanted plague doctor smut for some reason. so i delivered. you’re welcome, babe.))


End file.
